Stand By Me
by Tergon
Summary: A rescue mission gone horribly wrong leaves Nightcrawler and Wolfsbane alone to fight against the FOH, the elements, and whatever else comes their way...
1. From the Author

**Disclaimer:  
**I'm not getting money for this work of fanfiction. The reason for this is that if I owned the characters, or was paid to write this, it wouldn't be fanfiction. It would be canon. But it's not canon; it's fanfiction. I'm sure you can figure out the rest.

* * *

**Announcement:  
**This story is dedicated to two very fine writers by the names of Yma and Beboots, the two of whom contributed to the inspiration of this fic. They didn't know it, but it was through conversations with them that I got the idea. In other words, blame them.  
Thanks also go out to the Nutboarders, the crew of the InterNutter's BBS Board. Without their support and help, this story may have never gotten past the first installment.

* * *

**Author's note:  
**In the following story I'm going to be using a lot of scientific talk about virii, genetics and impulses from the brain. Normally you'd have to be smart to understand this, but that's why we have the internet: to LOOK smart when in fact we're really, really stupid. So it's okay.  
I also take a few liberties with the fine points of several mutant's powers, and in particular Nightcrawler's. These points aren't technically Canon, but they are also never explained fully in Canon. Instead I've improvised and made up some plausible explanations for how certain mutations work. So even though it's not the explanation that Marvel gives us, it is nonetheless a plausible explanation in place of none.  
Basically, what this Author's note means is that if you don't understand it, or if it doesn't make sense, or if you thought something different – well, I've done my best, but ultimately I know that I'm probably wrong. Okay?

* * *

Well... that's that, then. So, just enjoy the story.

I hope.


	2. Chapter 1

Morning had risen over the Xavier Institute. In the dining room, Rahne Sinclair was half listening to the conversation between Bobby and Jubilee next to her, and half listening to the general pandemonium that ruled the kitchen at this time of morning. As she listened, a German-accented voice rose briefly above the others, followed closely by one that was heavily punctuated with the words 'like' and 'totally'. Rahne winced with foreknowledge and counted down in her head.  
_Three… two… one…_

**BAMF**

She coughed as a cloud of sulfur wafted toward her, containing a blue-furred teenager in its midst. Said teenager, regaining his orientation after the teleport, noticed her coughing and gave a sheepish grin.  
"Sorry, Rahne," Kurt apologized. "Didn't mean to irritate you, but I'm being chased."  
Bobby looked up from his conversation. "Do I even want to know?" he asked.  
Jubilee frowned at the doorway. "I don't think we have much choice…" she muttered. As the words left her mouth, Kitty stormed in the door, holding a saucepan in one hand and a large spoon in the other.  
"Kurt Wagner! Get back here!"  
Kurt hid behind a chair. "I'd rather not…"  
"You, like, totally promised you'd try this!" Kitty snapped at him as she phased through the table toward him. Kurt leaped to his feet and scampered up the wall, pausing near the roof to look down at her.  
"Nein, I agreed that if you prepared some food, I would taste it. That," he gestured at the saucepan, "is not food."  
Jamie craned his neck, trying to see into the pot. "What is it?" he asked.  
"Low-fat porridge!" announced Kitty proudly. A speculative look on her face, she advanced toward the helpless boy. "Jamie…" she cooed. "You'll taste it, won't you?"  
The colour drained out of his face in apprehension as he tried to think of a polite way to refuse. Fortunately, he was saved by Kurt – the blue mutant suddenly dropped from the roof, seized Jamie by the shoulders, and teleported with him to the other side of the room, leaving Kitty with a faceful of brimstone.  
"From a fate worse than death, Jamie…" he grinned, then turned to bow at the others. "And I must bid thee fare well, before that fate catches up with me…"  
While the residue of Kurt's following departure was clearing from the room, Kitty huffed and stomped one foot as Jamie fled via the door. Turning, she offered the saucepan to the others. "Does anyone want to try this for me?" she asked plaintively.  
Rahne sniffed the pot suspiciously, then recoiled. "Chirst above!" she gasped, trying to get the stench out of her nostrils as she spoke. "Kitty, did you even try your own cooking before you passed it off tae us?"  
"Um…"Kitty flushed."well, I was totally going to, but then Kurt was, like, right there, and then we came in here, so I was, like…"  
"Kitty." Rahne cut off the babbling valley girl. "Eat yer cooking. Then, once you've tried it, you can try to get us to taste it. But nae before then."  
The others had to hide their grins as, for an instant, a look of pure horror crossed Kitty's features. It was immediately replaced by a determined expression, indicating that Kitty was actually going to do it. "Fine!" she snapped. Raising the slowly dripping spoon, she took a large mouthful of the thick gray goop filling the pot.  
And, a few seconds later, forcibly spat it back into the pot as the concentration of the others broke and the room exploded into laughter. Kitty gagged from the taste of her cooking as Evan pumped the air with one fist.  
"And that," he announced, grinning, "is why the K-man doesn't eat anything you cook."  
"Jawohl, mein freund," called Kurt from where he leaned against the doorjamb leading into the hall, watching the spectacle. "I will be perfectly willing to eat Katzchen's cooking – once she actually cooks something that won't try to eat me."  
With a glower aimed at the rest of the room in general, Kitty held the offending dish at arm's length as she vanished back toward the kitchen.

* * *

This was, of course, not an ordinary morning at the Xavier Institute for several reasons. One was that it was actually only 'morning' by a matter of fifteen minutes – the meal being eaten, which qualified as breakfast for some of the students, was taking place at a quarter to twelve. Another was that all the students seemed to be present, despite the fact that it was Thursday, indicating that no-one had gone to school that day. The third extraordinary thing was that there were none of the adults present despite the pandemonium underway.  
All three of these matters were quickly resolved with a single revelation – it was the first day of summer vacation. The majority of the students had only woken up within the last hour or so – the predictable exceptions being Kurt, Scott, Sam and Rahne, all of whom had been up before 9. While some of the students would be returning to their respective homes for a week or so, none of them had left yet. And, of course, the adults were seemingly absent because they had long since realized that there was no force on earth capable of restraining a dozen hyperactive teenagers armed with mutant powers. They were taking refuge in their respective 'safe zones', hoping to last out the first few days of unbridled chaos.

Examples of this chaos could be seen all over the Institute for the next two days. Courtesy of Bobby, almost everything in the mansion, including the occupants, had been frozen solid at least once. When he left to go home, the remaining students breathed a collective sigh of relief.  
No less disastrous were the antics of Jamie. Swarms of his multiples ran though every room, occasionally carrying with them random items from around the building, more rarely carrying a person. Jubilee had managed to start a minor fire in the Library during one of Jamie's abduction attempts when her struggles had caused her to accidentally release a ball of plasma into a stack of books. Nobody knew exactly why Jamie was abducting people, and nobody was actually brave enough to ask him. He, too, went home for a short break, and the chaos in the Institute was much reduced.  
Sam, Kitty, and Amara had also left, and by the third day of the summer holidays the chronic hyperactivity had begun to wear off. The students were no longer attempting to destroy everything that moved, and at roughly this time the adults deemed it safe to exit their sanctuaries – Ororo from her greenhouse, Hank from his lab, and Charles from his study. Logan, who'd simply vanished for three days, returned with no explanation of where he'd been. None was asked for.

* * *

By this stage, those who remained at the institute were busy making plans for the remainder of the holiday, sometimes individually, more often in a group. It was on this same day that Scott made a fairly predictable attempt to plan ahead. Entering the Rec room late one afternoon, he approached Jean where she sat on the sofa reading a magazine.  
"Um… so, Jean…" he began, aiming for a casual tone and failing miserably. "I'm heading into town tonight, and I was wondering if… ah…"  
Jean looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Yes?"  
"Ah… ifyouwantedtoseeamoviewithme."  
"Sorry, what was that?"  
Scott sighed. "Do you want to see a movie tonight? With me?"  
Jean bit her lower lip. _Oooh,_ she thought,_this is awkward_. After a moment she answered haltingly.  
"Um, Scott… I'd love to, but I…"  
Scott flinched visibly. "But you can't," he said flatly.  
Jean nodded. "Duncan and I already have plans tonight," she explained softly, and Scott winced before plastered a fake 'I'm Okay' face on.  
"No problem," he answered shortly. To save face, he turned to the others. "Anyone else want to come? The whole car's empty…"  
Kurt and Evan glanced at each other and came to an unspoken agreement. "Sure, dude, we'll come," said Evan quickly.  
"Ja, not a problem," agreed Kurt, sticking up for his friend. As Rahne and, finally, Rogue agreed to the trip, Jean folded her magazine in half and left the room, muttering something about having to get ready. Jubilee, ever one to cut her losses, turned to Scott.  
"So? When do we leave?" she asked.  
"Hmm?" Scott snapped out of his reverie. "Oh… um, it's almost six now, so… we go in half an hour. We can eat at Gutbomb after the movie."  
As Kurt pumped the air with one fist at the final sentence, Scott left the room, slowly trailed by the others who, one by one, prepared for a casual night out.

* * *

Four hours later, the small group arrived at Gutbomb. As they entered, still discussing the movie, one of the staff noticed the hologram-wrapped Kurt and immediately tapped a small bell next to his cash register. As Kurt grinned, the other four raised their eyebrows at this new development when the manager bustled out of his office and took a post at a separate register, while several staff hurried over to wipe down a large table in the cleanest corner of the restaurant. Kurt never broke his stride, but stepped up to the manager as his grin grew even wider.  
"Guten nacht, Larry," he greeted the overweight, balding man behind the counter. "I'll have the usual, danke, and my friends have orders of their own as well."  
"Of course, Mister Wagner," gushed Larry, carefully pronouncing Kurt's surname correctly. "Please, take a seat – we have a table ready."  
Kurt nodded his thanks and wandered over to the table, slumping in a freshly cleaned chair and chatting to one of the staff who was cleaning debris off the table. The remaining quartet of bewildered mutants went up, made their orders, and took their seats next to Kurt with assurances from Larry that their food would be promptly delivered to their table.  
Finally, Rogue spoke. "What's going on? This place is a step down from McDonald's, for Christ's sake! I've been to suit an' tie restaurants that don't give service like this!"  
Kurt just grinned. "They know me here," he said simply.  
Evan did not blink until some time after Larry himself had delivered their meals. Rahne and Scott just tried not to look like this was strange. They couldn't do it.

* * *

On the other side of town, Jean lounged in the passenger seat of Duncan's car as they drove through the streets, trying to look interested in what her date was saying. Not that the jock wasn't trying – he'd actually put on a real show for once. A fancy restaurant, tickets to a basketball game, which was one of the few sports that Jean actually enjoyed watching, and so far there had been no attempts to grope her. Duncan was improving admirably – he just wasn't much for conversation.  
The next time he stopped for a red light, Jean made the effort to be involved in the conversation by starting a thread of her own. "This has been a really great night, Duncan," she smiled. "You can be a real charmer when you try, you know…"  
Duncan grinned. "Hey, I had lots of practice. You just gotta notice the little things – what food you like, what sports you like, that sorta thing."  
Jean raised an eyebrow. "Little things?" she asked.  
He nodded. "Yeah. Like you – I notice the little things about you, now. I notice how you do your hair, what perfume you wear, how you read minds, the way you dress, what makes you laugh…"  
Jean smiled for a moment before she registered what he'd said. Suddenly, she was so pale that she could have passed for a redheaded Rogue. "Wh… what?"  
"I said, what makes you laugh."  
"No, I mean…"  
Duncan's grin suddenly looked sinister. "Oh, you must have meant the mind reading thing, right? Well, you may not notice, but I can feel it when you do that. And I can see it when you use telekinesis." He chuckled. "I looked that up, you know."  
Jean was trembling. "Why… why are you…"  
Duncan didn't let her finish, just continued in the same maddening monotone. "But you don't notice things, do you Jean? Like you don't notice how I look for signs like that, or how obvious you really are. Like you didn't notice that my dad, for example, is regional manager of the Bayville FOH. Like you didn't notice that your drink tasted a little funny…"  
Jean's mouth went dry. Shaking her head, she pushed out at him with telepathy, trying to erase his memory, and felt… nothing. The same result occurred when she tried to use telekinesis.  
Her powers were not working.

"How… Duncan, what's going on?"  
There was definitely a nasty tone to Duncan's laugh at that statement. "What's wrong, Jean? Can't fuck with my mind any more? Aaw, too bad." He suddenly pulled the car over, locking the doors with a little button next to the steering wheel. "It's an experimental drug that Dad and his team developed. It's called Azmodium. Temporarily shuts off a freak's X-Gene, according to Dad. The perfect thing for catching a mutie bitch."  
The soft, calm monotone of Duncan's voice was the most horrifying thing Jean had ever heard, the way he seemed to be just reciting facts instead of telling her that he'd blown her cover and was planning to… what?  
With a cry, she lunged for the central locking control next to the steering wheel. Instantly, Duncan's hand whipped up. Caught in her hair. Yanked her head savagely back. Smashed it against the dashboard.  
Jean began to black out. The last thing she heard was Duncan's voice.  
"Dad's gonna be so proud of me…"  
She was unconscious before she noticed the lights of the car coming up behind them.

* * *

As they sped by, Scott frowned and spun slightly in his seat, squinting at the parked vehicle they were rapidly moving away form. Evan noticed the movement.  
"What is it, dude?" he turned awkwardly in his seat, trying to see out the back window, but Scott simply turned back to the road.  
"Nothing, I… that just looked like Duncan's car, that's all."  
Rogue shrugged. "So? An' even if it was his car, what's the problem?"  
Kurt covered a sympathetic smile under an indifferent look lest his friend see it. "Scott, it's bad that she went out with Matthews instead of you. But being paranoid will get us nowhere, ja?"  
Rahne agreed. "An' if she were in trouble…" she tapped the side of her head. "…she'd most likely let us know straight away."  
Scott sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Sorry about that."  
They kept driving. And soon, the parked car was out of sight. 


	3. Chapter 2

The next morning saw everyone grouped at breakfast, as so often happened – with the immediately noticeable exception of Jean, something Ororo was quick to ask the students about.  
Scott's answer was to mutter that she was probably tired after her "late night out".  
Ray merely grunted that while anyone else couldn't do anything without the (expletive) teachers breathing down their necks, apparently the Golden Girl could get away with whatever she wanted to.  
The others showed varying degrees of concern.  
Generally, however, the consensus was that Jean was indeed asleep after her night out, and spending what the teachers considered to be a well-earned sleep in. As a result, it was not until Ororo knocked on Jean's door at a quarter past ten that morning that the first concerns set in.

Coming downstairs, the onetime Goddess encountered Hank and Charles seated at the kitchen table, reading over some obscure scientific textbooks. They glanced up briefly as she approached before returning to their respective tomes.  
"I don't suppose either of you have seen Jean this morning?"  
Hank turned a page. "Er, she's in her room if I'm not mistaken…"  
"You are mistaken," Ororo responded. "She is not there. And as near as I can tell, the bed has not been slept in."  
Real concern appeared in their expressions for the first time. Charles closed his eyes for a moment, his face a mask of concentration; when he opened them again the concern was stronger. "She is not in this building," he said simply. He pulled away from the table, headed for the door. "I will send the others to the dining room. Explain the situation to them and see if they know anything. I'll be in Cerebro's chamber."  
Ororo and Hank looked at one another before leaving the room hurriedly.

* * *

To the credit of the students, they reacted to the news of Jean's disappearance fairly well, even Scott. In spite of Charles' earlier statement, they searched the mansion thoroughly, even the areas of the sub-basements that few people ever went. There was no sign of the missing telepath, a statement Charles reaffirmed when he finally exited Cerebro almost an hour later. The students were slumped in the Rec room, an air of defeat around them, none more so than Scott, whom the others were vainly trying to reassure.  
"Relax, man," Evan insisted. "It wasn't your fault."  
"Then whose was it?" Scott responded dully, not looking up.  
Jubilee snorted. "How about Matthews?" she suggested. "He was supposed to be taking care of her…"  
Scott's head snapped up. "Say that again."  
Jubilee blinked. "Huh? Um, okay – he was supposed to…"  
"No!" Scott cut her off. "You said it was Duncan's fault, didn't you?"  
"Um… well, I didn't mean literally, but…"  
Scott was not listening. Instead, his gaze shifted to Kurt, pinning the blue mutant in place with a look. "That car last night. You saw it. Could it have been Duncan's?"  
Kurt saw where his friend was going. "It could have, but there's no reason to…"  
His words fell on deaf ears. Scott Summers had left the building, and in his place, Cyclops jumped to his feet and strode from the room.  
_Professor?  
Yes, Scott?_ Came the answer.  
_I may have an idea. Find Duncan Matthews for me…_

* * *

She was cold. That was the first thing Jean thought of when she awoke. Slowly fluttering her eyes open, she raised her head, only to be stopped by a thunderbolt of pain from her forehead.  
Then she remembered why it hurt.  
_Duncan_.  
The fear returned full-force with the memories of the night before, and she was able to ignore the pain enough to climb to her feet, though she needed to lean against the nearby wall in order to hold herself up. Turning around, she took in her surroundings, trembling as each realization struck her.  
She was alone. She was in a cell. Her powers were still not active.  
And, worst of all, she had been wrong. She wasn't alone at all.  
Outside the cell, a soldier dressed in a plain khaki uniform with an assault rifle over his shoulder pressed a button on an intercom on the wall. "Sir," he barked. "Subject is awake and aware of her surroundings."  
She stared wide-eyed at him as he resumed his impassive stance. "Where am I?" she demanded, and received no answer. "What's going on? Who are you?" Again, no reply. Swiftly she realized that no information would be forthcoming from this military figure and abandoned her futile questioning to look at her cell once more. There wasn't much to see – the cell was generally featureless, with three grey-tiled walls and one formed from bars. Jean eventually slumped against one wall, hugging her knees to her chest and trying not to let despair overwhelm her.  
She didn't know how long she sat like that, but it couldn't have been for more than a few minutes before a door, out of sight from her cell, slammed open. Her guard turned and saluted smartly as Jean scrambled to her feet. Seconds later, a man stepped into view, casually dressed in sneakers, tan trousers and a blue button-up shirt. She gasped as she recognized him.  
"Good to see you're awake, Miss Grey," smirked one Phillip Matthews, father of Bayville High's most notorious jock – and the man responsible for her current situation. 

"And how are we feeling?" he inquired with mock politeness. "No nausea? Shakes? Rashes?"  
Jean shook her head slowly. "Why… why would I?"  
Phillip laughed, a laugh that didn't fit his evidently sadistic nature; it was the laugh of a man who loved life, and had not a care in the world. "Isn't it obvious? Miss Grey, you are alive for a reason. You're the first real mutant we've tested Azmodium on. You must be able to appreciate how interested we are as to your reactions."  
Jean's throat tightened. "Wait, you… you mean I'm a test subject?"  
"Well, it's a preferable term to 'lab rat'." Phillip grinned. "After all, you're a mutant. I wouldn't want to insult some perfectly decent vermin by comparing them to you." Chuckling at his own barb, he stepped back to leave. "Don't get comfortable, Miss Grey. Your first examination is in one hour." With that, he left.  
Jean slowly slid back down the wall into a huddled ball on the floor. She began to shake uncontrollably; a few moments later, she began to sob.  
She was alone.

* * *

Kurt balanced easily atop the pole, the shadow of the building behind him leaving his form mostly invisible. His usually affable grin wasn't present; possibly it had been left at home with his image inducer. Instead, as his tail whipped the air behind him, an uncharacteristic frown marred his indigo features. His gaze, focused directly on the exit of the building across the street, only wavered once as he searched for the form of a large red wolf, crouched behind a dumpster and watching the door as intently as he was.  
It had been some hours since Scott had developed a plan to find the missing Jean. As it happened, Scott's plan had been direct, simple, and as far from subtle as could be imagined. By his reasoning, Duncan had been the last one to see Jean; therefore he was most likely to know what happened to her. The best way to interrogate him was, in Scott's mind, to threaten him with a painful death if he didn't spill the beans. Logan voiced a strong backing for this plan; Charles only agreed when it was pointed out that he could simply erase the memory after all was said and done. At which point, he was promptly instructed to locate Duncan, and to provide some useful information for the interrogation. 

The jock had been located, after a short search, inside the _Tolero _motel, which was now carefully being watched by Kurt and Rahne, with Logan and Scott waiting in a car four blocks away for the action to start. Kurt had had a few objections to why he was chosen for this task, but agreed; Rahne disagreed on principle, but didn't object. The reason they'd been chosen to single out Duncan was that, according to Charles, the jock had a morbid fear of wild animals since an unpleasant incident in his childhood (**1**). These two, with the possible exception of Logan, or Rogue in the morning, were the most animalistic of the residents of the Institute.  
So now they waited.  
At around midday, some thirty minutes after the stakeout had begun, Duncan came outside with a backpack slung over his shoulder. In a few steps, he reached a light green car, unlocked it, and got in. Kurt spoke into a small radio as he watched Rahne get to her feet and glance up at him.  
"He's out. We're moving now."

The wires they had frayed in the engine compartment of Duncan's car managed to get him several blocks before the car died – far enough to remove him from the eyes of any passers-by, but easily close enough for him to be followed.  
Which was why, when Duncan got out of the car, swearing volubly, it was only a matter of seconds before he heard a deep snarl from a few feet away. He turned, spotted Rahne, and stopped dead as his internal temperature plummeted to well below normal. Then, issuing a high-pitched scream, he scrambled back into the car and pulled it shut, staring out of the window with wide eyes. The fear had heightened his senses; and so the unfamiliar smell filling the car seemed exceptionally vile to him. Rotten eggs, or something…  
Another, deeper growl sounded – this time from inside the car. Very, very close. Whimpering, the jock turned in his seat to look at the source.  
His scream was even shriller and louder than the previous one; both Kurt and Rahne, in possession of extremely sensitive hearing, winced before Kurt cut the scream short with a short chopping punch into Duncan's neck.  
"Shut up," he growled, trying furiously not to grin – punching Duncan was something he'd wanted to do for some time, but had been forbidden to do so. His strength, out of proportion to his size, would have been suspicious even to Duncan.  
Duncan gave a choked whimper, pressed back against the window, and seemed to remember the wolf. He glanced over his shoulder. Rahne wagged her tail, then promptly shifted into human form and opened the door, causing Duncan to sprawl out onto the road.  
Duncan wet himself.  
Kurt climbed into the driver's seat so that he could lean over Duncan's prone form. "Last night, Duncan, you were out with a friend of ours. Today, she's missing." As realization, mixed with pure terror, crossed Duncan's features, Kurt's voice became thickened with anger. "I think we need to have a little talk."  
Seizing the blubbering, urine-reeking jock with one hand and throwing the other around Rahne's shoulders, Kurt closed his eyes briefly and the three teenagers disappeared in a particularly large cloud of smoke.

* * *

(**1**) Based on, and referenced to, a theoretical conversation spawned on the BBS of the InterNutter. 


	4. Chapter 3

Jean flinched as a powerful light shone into her eye, and would have blinked had the technicians – she didn't think of them as doctors, and even scientists seemed too flattering – not been holding her eyelids open with rubber-gloved hands.  
"Minor dilation," recited a muffled voice. "Heart rate is elevated, breathing is shallow."  
A nod. "Standard bodily responses to disorientation and panic," said another.  
Jean gritted her teeth. "Of course I'm panicking…" she said thinly. "I'm being examined by a bunch of neo-nazi pencil-pushing assholeswho won't even-"  
Her statement was cut off as a large syringe replaced the penlight, pointing directly into her eye.  
"I will thank you, Miss Grey-" she recognized Phillip Matthews' voice "-to remember that you are here as an acquisition, not an individual. For our purposes, you only need to be alive, not necessarily unharmed. Should you persist, I will have no compunction whatsoever in silencing you by whatever means necessary."  
Jeans' jaw muscles rippled as she gritted her teeth, but she said nothing.  
"Good. Now remain silent, or I will relieve you of the ability to speak." Phillip lowered the syringe to her arm and rammed it into her flesh without warning. Jean managed to bite back a whimper as a vial of blood was filled and taken away for analysis, and the examination continued for a few moments until she felt herself moving.

She was strapped into a large adjustable seat, much like a dentist's chair, only far less comfortable and much smaller. Her clothes had been replaced with a light blue hospital gown, a comparison that seemed ludicrous considering her situation. As an aide manipulated the controls, she was elevated into a sitting position, but wasn't sure what was going to happen until another female technician lifted a large pair of scissors and seized a handful of her hair.  
When she began to remove Jean's hair, she let out a soft moan in spite of herself. This was somehow the final straw, where she became something less than a person – the imprisonment, the examination, all of it, it was something that one person would do to another, albeit a very sick person and a very unfortunate person respectively. But this, shearing off the hair she'd taken years to grow into the style she loved so much, it was the final desecration. Phillip seemed to notice.  
"Miss Grey, the loss of your hair is currently the least of your worries. However, we are not simply being sadistic this time; we have a purpose to our actions."  
"What?" Jean whispered as the technician replaced the scissors and picked up an electrical razor.  
"A series of examinations in which we will be examining your internal structure, among them an EEG and a CAT scan. Your brain waves in particular are of interest to us."  
"Why?" Jean's fear had reduced her to monosyllable sentences by this stage.  
Although an operating mask covered the lower half of Phillip's face, his eyes lit up at that question, and his tone switched to that of a lecturer speaking of a well-beloved life's work, which of course he was.

"Your brainwaves, Miss Grey, will inform us of how effectively the Azmodium has deactivated your X-Gene. Azmodium, Miss Grey, is a carefully engineered retrovirus – I assume you know what that is?"  
As another technician took careful readings from a set of scales built into the chair, Jean nodded. A retrovirus, she remembered, was a crippled virus, one incapable of reproducing itself. It could enter a body's system and perform its purpose, but the inability to regenerate its cells meant that it died out rapidly and could not spread beyond the original infection site. This made them safe for experimentation, and they were commonly used for biological research.  
At her nod, Phillip continued. "A simple retrovirus, engineered to target the special area in your mind that was mutated by the X-Gene. More importantly, though, it carries special enzymes for a special purpose." His eyes crinkled up as he grinned at his own brilliance, and he continued.  
"These enzymes lock on to the cells that make up your X-Gene. They then double bond with the retrovirus cells and redesign them, making them a perfect match for your own body cells. Your own immune system recognizes these fake cells and begins to attach them to your system almost at once. This, combined with the retrovirus' nature to attack body cells, results in your X-Gene being coated with cells that are incapable of reproduction – essentially, dead cells. And this, in turn, prevents the X-Gene from releasing the electrical impulses that give you your mutant capabilities, essentially rendering the gene useless."  
As Jean's eyes widened at the scope of Phillip's creation, the technician finished shaving her hair off and placed the razor on a table while an aide swept up the pile of shorn red locks. A clamp was lifted from the back of the chair to hold her head in place, but she barely noticed this as Phillip continued his explanation.  
"But here's the beauty part – your own body can't tell the difference. The cells coating the X-Gene are still alive, even if they don't function. Your body thinks the cells are alive and in their rightful place, and so it fights to stop the cells from dying. Your own body keeps the retrovirus from dying. And the cells that form your X-Gene are incredibly long-living, so they last for some time, even despite the fact that they are artificial. They should, in fact, remain intact for several days."

The locks from the head brace snapped into place. "You know all this?" Jean asked, enthralled despite herself.  
Phillip's eyes became even colder at that question, and Jean's newfound fascination for her situation withered instantly. "No, Miss Grey. We don't… knowit… yet. Which is why you are here." He chuckled. "Your species are notoriously hard to pin down, and show an unfortunate habit of dying under pressure. You will be the first mutant we've run these tests on." Finished speaking, he nodded to one of his technicians, who activated a strange machine next to Jean's chair.  
She gasped in pain as a sudden flash of energy burned into her temples from the metallic brace. Phillip glowered at a monitor. "More power," he snapped irritably.  
As the pulses became stronger and faster, Jean began to sweat, and tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. She strained against her bonds, but it was not until her shortened hair began to singe that she screamed for the first time.  
It was a long time before she stopped.

* * *

**WHIIRRRRRRRRRR...**  
**THUNK!**

Duncan flinched as a thrown knife hurtled into the tree he was tied to and stuck straight out, quivering from the loss of momentum.  
"You missed," Jubilee commented. "There's only two shots left, or you owe me five bucks."  
Ray snorted. "Fuck it, dontcha think if he can land it next to the asshole's head every time, he'd be able to hit him if he wanted?"  
"I could," Kurt agreed. "But the bet was that I could hit him one time in five, so I only need to hit him on my last try to win."  
Rahne, next to the tree, pulled the knife free and tossed it so that it landed in the grass at Kurt's feet. He grinned, nodded his thanks, and retrieved the blade. Carefully, he sighted along it, and with barely any wind-up, hurled it.

**WHIIRRRRRRRRRR...**  
**THUNK!**

Duncan had been a guest at the Charles Xavier Institute for almost an hour now, and was less than thrilled with the hospitality he'd been shown. Promptly after arriving with Kurt and Rahne, he'd vomited up his last two meals as a result of Kurt heaping the brunt of several heavy teleports on him. Having caught his breath, he'd been introduced to the alter-egos of several of his fellow Bayville High students. Of these introductions, he'd at first thought that Nightcrawler and Wolfsbane would be the worst of a bad lot; his introduction to a psychotic individual named Cyclops had convincingly trumped it. The following relevation that Cyclops was, of course, a disguised Scott Summers, only made Duncan's apprehension more palpable.  
Scott, not willing to wait for the formal interrogation to start, had begun 'questioning' Duncan almost immediately, using a method that even Logan had thought to be a unreasonably harsh. Once Duncan had regained consciousness, Ororo had instructed the younger students to take him outside for some fresh air whilst Scott calmed down and the Professor made his way outside.

Having had his knife returned, Kurt sighted along it for the fifth and final time. "Jubilee? Get your money ready," he advised. Duncan stared fixedly at the knife through blackened and swollen eyes, bruised by Scott's persuasion earlier. Rogue grinned at the jock's expression.  
"C'mon, fuzzy!" she yelled. "And-a-one! And-a-two! And-a-"  
"ELF!"  
Very few people had ever been relieved to hear the sound of Logan's shouts; for a brief moment, Duncan was able to add himself to that list. Kurt immediately hid the knife behind his back.  
"I wasn't doing anything," he announced brightly.  
Logan scowled. "Cut the crap, Elf."  
Ray snorted. "We didn't even touch the bastard," he muttered.  
"I know," Logan agreed. "That's what I'm pissed about."

**SNIKT**

Duncan's throat was raw from the noise he'd been making since his arrival; even so, he managed to produce yet another shrill scream as a trio of blades erupted from Logan's fists and aimed themselves at his throat.  
"Logan!" called Charles sharply from the kitchen door. The Canadian turned his head without removing his claws.  
"Chuck, he-"  
"No."  
"But I was-"  
"No."  
"Can't I just-"  
"No."  
"What if I-"  
"Logan!"  
Logan's scowl deepened. "Fine," he muttered darkly and stormed over to where Ray, Kurt and Jubilee stood, Rahne following behind him.  
Charles bit back a smile as he approached Duncan, still tied to a tree and drenched in sweat from utter terror. He had no compunction whatsoever about what was going on – he knew that Duncan would come to no serious harm until he'd yielded up the information they needed, and until then it would do their cause some good if the jock was too frightened to risk lying to him.

By the time he reached the trembling young man, however, any humour was gone as he remembered that one of his students may have been placed in extreme danger, and that the blame could be directly attributed to his individual. When he finally spoke, the icy tone of his voice carried this knowledge clearly.  
"It's time, Mr. Matthews, that we found out what we want to know. I've instructed my students and staff not to harm you overly until we have our information – but rest assured that if we have ways of learning the truth. The easiest method is that you simply tell us; feel like talking?"  
Whether out of fear, loyalty to his father, or plain stupidity, Duncan made no response. Charles waited a reasonable interval before speaking again. "One more try, Duncan. Tell us, or you will suffer the repercussions. Where… is… Jean?"  
Duncan's body began to tremble, but he still said nothing. Charles sighed. "Very well. You leave me no choice…" Raising his hands to his temples, Charles focused his power onto the bound youth before him. The trembling in Duncan's body ceased, replaced by complete stiffness; an instant later, he shrieked in pain as his mind was invaded. The cry and the struggles, however, came to an abrupt halt as his conscious mind was sent into regression by Charles, and no further objection was made as his memories were pillaged.  
Some minutes later, Duncan's body slumped against the ropes binding him to the tree, and Charles lowered his hands. "He'll sleep for some time," he informed the others. "We, meanwhile, have work to do."  
Scott, having arrived with Rogue and Ororo during the last few moments, stepped forward. "Where's Jean?" he demanded. "What did he do to her? What happened?"  
Charles met his eyes, an angry look on his face. "What happened, Scott? Quite simply, it was betrayal. Of the worst kind. Jean is a prisoner of the Friends of Humanity, due to the machinations of Mr. Matthews, here."  
The grief on Scott's face was a palpable thing. "Where?" he said, simply.  
"Not here," came the reply. "Suit up. I'll pass on the information as we go." He looked at the others. "All of you. NOW!"  
As they departed, Logan hung back. He gestured toward Duncan. "Whaddya want done with the crybaby?" he asked.  
Charles shook his head. "Leave him where he is. If we return with Jean, she can decide what we will do with him; if we do not return soon enough, he can rot here for all I care."  
Logan did not move. "An' if we come back without her?" he asked softly.  
Charles' expression was icy. "Then you may do with him whatever you please," he responded, equally softly. "Get changed. Time is not on our side."


	5. Chapter 4

A dull roar split the air as the Blackbird shot toward the afternoon sun. Without shifting his gaze from the controls, Scott spoke over his shoulder.  
"Professor, you said we'd get a brief once we were in the air. Can we hear it, now?"  
Charles nodded, the gesture unseen by Scott but taken in by everyone else as they turned to look at him. "At the beginning of Jean and Duncan's dinner last night, Duncan used an experimental drug of some kind on Jean. A result of Jean's carelessness over a period of time meant that Duncan was aware of her mutant status, and the drug, donated by his father, was an attempt to capture Jean alive. It succeeded."  
Kurt was seething in his seat. Having had experience with the Friends Of Humanity before, he knew full well how they usually operated, and the fact that Jean had been taken alive was the embodiment of his worst fear, taken out on a friend. "She's a test subject, isn't she?" he asked coldly. Charles' eyes flooded with sympathy for an instant.  
"Yes. Jean was seen as… extremely valuable as a test subject – a functioning mutant of reasonable power, in good physical health – and Duncan's instructions were to deliver her with the minimum possible amount of physical harm. The drug somehow deactivated Jean's powers; at which point she was no match for Duncan's physical strength. He personally delivered her, unconscious, to the facility we are headed towards."  
Ororo nodded. "And where is that?" she asked. "All you said was 'go west'."  
"160 miles, more or less, due west of our current location. At our current speed, we should arrive in about 30 minutes."  
Hank raised an eyebrow. "That's a rather extreme distance to take her," he commented.  
Logan shook his head. "Checked the motel register after we picked up Matthews," he explained. "He dropped Jeannie, took her to his facility, came back to Bayville, and booked into the motel at six this morning. He had plenty of time."  
Jubilee looked puzzled. "Why would they take her so far away?" she wanted to know.  
It was Ray who answered her. "'Cause she might not have been alone here, an' if she weren't, they don't want her friends to show up and bust her out. That'd fuck their plans right up."  
For once, none of the teachers reprimanded him on his language, and in the silence that followed, Logan could be heard to crack his knuckles loudly.

* * *

The door to Jean's cell swung open and Phillip Matthews entered, flanked by another two technicians and a trio of guards. Once again, while the other five wore starched white coats and military uniforms respectively, Phillip was dressed casually, marking him as different to the others. However, this seemingly unprofessional appearance did not make him seem less threatening; on the contrary, his differences made him all the more menacing.  
These thoughts ran through Jean's head as she watched her captors enter. Once they were inside, she lowered her head and resumed her former position, curled in a ball in one corner. Vivid red welts showed the burns on either side of her head; her lips were swollen and torn from her own teeth as she'd gnawed at them while trying not to sob too loudly; bruises marked her wrists and ankles from her struggles during the tests; and her fear and utter despair seemed to hang in the air around her like some foul miasma.  
Phillip took no notice of her state as he stepped over to her and crouched by her head. 

"I thought you would like to know, Miss Grey, that the Azmodium is taking full and perfect effect. Your X-Gene has been effectively, if only temporarily, deactivated." He smiled nastily. "Congratulations are in order – you're the first of your species to survive this far into the testing. And although you will certainly not be the last, you can rest assured that you'll lead the race for some time. We have a long way to go with you, Miss Grey."  
A soft whimper escaped Jean's throat.  
"Now, the question I'm sure you've been asking yourself – what are they going to do with me now?" He chuckled at his own cleverness and continued as though Jean herself had asked the question. "Well, first we wait until the Azmodium has fully left your system. We take observations – under controlled circumstances, of course – of any and all side-effects the virus has left in your system. Then we repeat the process again. After that…" he paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "After that, we begin the experiments. We've managed to… acquire… some of the technology used by other organizations that perform experimental enhancements on mutants, and we're looking forward to putting it to use. We plan to extend the mutations you're already afflicted with, and test each new development to see if it can resist the effects of Azmodium. The only difficult choice will be what experiments to perform." He looked at Jean with a reflecting look in his eyes. "Tell me, Miss Grey, what would you prefer – pyrokinesis or enhanced strength?"  
When no answer was forthcoming, he stood up and sighed. "Very well," he mused. "We can settle for both." He stepped away.

At that moment, a radio on one of the soldier's belts crackled and a metallic voice squawked out, echoing in the room. The soldier – Lieutenant Volden, his nameplate read – snatched up the device and half turned, hissing furiously into the mouthpiece. A few moments later, he turned back.  
"Sir?" he ventured. "That was the periphery guards."  
Phillip cocked an eyebrow. "And?" he asked.  
"We may have a situation."  
"What?"  
The Lieutenant swallowed. "We seem to be under attack from a rogue military band. They appear to be mutants, sir."  
Phillip's face registered stunned shock for an instant before he wheeled and strode out of the door, instructing the others to follow him. Lieutenant Volden paused at the door to look back at their captive, wondering if she'd understood the implications of the radio message he'd relayed in her presence.  
From her position on the floor, Jean glowered up at her captor, and a faint light of hope began to glimmer in her sunken, red-rimmed eyes. Lieutenant Volden shuddered involuntarily at the sight before slamming the door behind him and hurrying to catch up with his superior.

* * *

The FOH Biological Research Facility was situated in a natural fortress in the hills. Thick growth from the surrounding forest prevented vehicle access from any direction save the main roads, while the facility itself was situated in a depression of the surrounding rise of land in a clearing in the dense woodland. A chain-link fence, composed of razor wire and carrying a voltage of some 10,000 volts surrounded the buildings; at regular intervals were guard houses, with armed soldiers keeping a vigilant watch for any intruders.  
Of course, this only applied to average days at this facility, when it was not being attacked.  
This day was different. Today, the chain-link wires of the fence glowed red where they'd been severed by Scott's optic blasts, forming a neat circular hole in the barrier which gave off the occasional spark as the powerful voltage contained within the wire shorted out, its contact broken. Through this gap ran two separate groups with two separate objectives.  
Scott, Rogue, Ororo and Ray were first through the gap; their task was to enter the main body of the FOH facility and locate Jean as quickly as possible before getting her out. Next came Logan, Kurt and Rahne, whose duty was to shut down the facility's communications tower, some one hundred and fifty meters from the facility itself and protected by almost two dozen of the FOH guards. On board the Blackbird, fifty meters from the barrier of the high-voltage fence, waited Hank, Charles and Jubilee, keeping their transportation safe for the return of the two teams.  
As both teams entered the facility grounds, they knew that their presence had been noticed; from the dozen unconscious guards within sight, however, there came no challenges.  
Charles had been working well.

* * *

Within the walls of the facility, red lights pulsed a silent alarm as booted feet tramped up and down corridors and muted voices barked orders back and forth. Weapons were loaded and cocked; body armour was fitted and checked; positions inside the facility's few weak points were taken up with guns aimed and ready.  
Throughout this vigorous preparation strode Phillip Matthews, flanked as always by his three personal guards, as other technicians and scientists took refuge in the bowels of the sub-levels of the facility. Phillip, however, had no intention of hiding as they had.  
_This is perfect_, he silently exulted. _We're never going to be more ready than we are now! The capabilities of Azmodium have been tested and proved, these men have received the best training money can buy, and we have a strong position against a small attacking force_…  
He smiled, a hungry humourless smile. _Let them come. We're ready for them_.  
Of course, he chose not to give voice to such feelings, instead settling for a simple order that was relayed to every soldier in the vicinity. "These mutants are not to be killed," he barked to Lieutenant Volden, who in turn repeated the message to his men. "While they're standing and fighting, they're enemies – but once they're down, then they're test subjects and worth their weight in gold. Do **not** kill them, doyou hear me? I want them **alive**." 


End file.
